


he's got new dreams he's building upon

by elegantstupidity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stage managing the Fall Showcase is not how Bellamy would choose to spend his time, but the presence of a certain blonde almost makes it worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's got new dreams he's building upon

If Bellamy had to listen to another sixteen-year-old warble her way through "I Dreamed a Dream," he might have to throw himself from the auditorium's catwalk. If he could figure his way up there first, that was.

When his guidance counselor told him not to expect a recommendation letter without one school-sponsored extracurricular, Bellamy'd figured stage managing the Fall Showcase would be a breeze.

(Octavia had been complaining for three days already. She was the only freshman on the executive council and was taking the vacant position personally. When he told her he would do it, she'd thrown herself at him in delight before pulling back and threatening bodily harm if he embarrassed her.)

Hanging out with his sister and moving a couple microphone stands around? A total breeze.

Obviously, he didn't account for Jaha and his love for thematic productions.

"Follow Your Dreams!" proclaimed the audition notice along with some nonsense about mining the rich tradition of theatrical dreamers.

So far, there had been a Hamlet, a Man of La Mancha, three white Dreamgirls, a pitchy Elphaba outshone by Galinda, and the most unenthusiastic Murphy doing Puck's closing monologue. Just about every "I Want" song from the past ten years had been sung ad nauseam. Someone had actually managed to pare down "The Room Where It Happens." It didn't even sound half bad. And, of course, there were the solid _seven_ Fantines.

Bellamy wasn't sure who he hated more: Susan Boyle, Anne Hathaway, or Jaha for subjecting him to this.

Finally, the girl fled from the stage, followed by Jaha's over-enthusiastic cheers. Dutifully, Bellamy clapped a few times before slumping further in his seat. One more audition today and he could leave this Glee-fueled hellhole.

"The next performer is our very own Clarke Griffin," Jaha dictated to the Student Theatre Society that Bellamy had apparently joined in his bid for a complete college application.

Bellamy craned his neck around to stare at the blonde princess two rows back. As far as he'd known, Clarke did all the set designs for student productions. (As well as captained the Ark Quiz Bowl team and founded the Girls in STEM club and had been elected Secretary of the Student Council.) If there'd ever been any indication that she was musical, though, Bellamy had definitely missed it. Still, no one else seemed all that surprised, so he just watched as she made her way to the stage and sat down at the scuffed upright. 

Clarke paused for a moment, studying the keys intently before placing her hands and beginning. 

A delicate waltz lilted from the piano, carrying out through the suddenly silent auditorium. Then, Clarke added her voice. 

It wasn't a song Bellamy knew. (That is, it wasn't one that Octavia has played on repeat for weeks on end. Hearing it now, Bellamy was sure that experience was in his near future, though.) It wasn't particularly complex, didn't require much of a range or technical precision, but it didn't need to with the sheer emotion Clarke poured into her performance. 

As the last note faded away, Bellamy joined the applause more promptly and more sincerely than he did for the last Fantine. Clarke rose and offered a chagrined grimace to her audience as Jaha addressed his rapt club members (and Bellamy).

"What a way to end our audition process! Our STS executive council will meet tomorrow during lunch to make some decisions and the list of performers will be posted after school. We'll begin rehearsals next week. I will see most of you then."

Permission to get the hell out of there granted, Bellamy grabbed his backpack and jacket. By some miracle, he managed to snag O's elbow before she could start flirting with Lincoln, the junior who was far too old for her, and was out the door in no time at all.

* * *

The next afternoon, Bellamy was headed to the cafeteria for lunch when someone grabbed his arm. He'd already had a terrible morning—O's pissiness at being dragged home before she wanted and that stupid song about that stupid dick Jamie looping through his head would've been enough to set him on edge, but he'd had a pop quiz in Econ and left his Government textbook at home, too—so he whirled on the personal space invader with a snarl.

"What?"

Raven Reyes stared back at him, unimpressed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"The cafeteria," he replied slowly for effect. "For lunch."

Raven's expressionless stare didn't change, but she tilted her head a little, like Bellamy was some weird bug she'd never seen before and therefore elicited the barest curiosity. When he started fidgeting under her scrutiny, her lips curved into a smile, sharp and pleased. "You know you have to come to the casting meeting today, right?"

No, Bellamy hadn't known that. He hadn't even realized Raven was at the auditions yesterday, which he blurted out in his confusion.

She rolled her eyes and tugged him along, against the flow of traffic. "I wasn't. Jaha orders pizza, though, and since I build, like, 90% of the sets, I get to go to all the big meetings. At least all the ones with free pizza." Raven pushed him into the auditorium ahead of her. 

"Why do I have to be here?" he wondered aloud. 

"Because stage management always is," Raven tossed over her shoulder as she made her way down one of the side aisles. "Now hurry up before Jasper eats all the food."

Spread out on the stage was the ragtag STS executive council. There was Octavia, finally flirting with Lincoln (who was still way too old for her), and Jasper leaned against a blushing Maya while Clarke scribbled intently in a notebook. Jaha watched them all benevolently from the first row.

"Ah, Ms. Reyes and Mr. Blake," Jaha pronounced, gesturing expansively for no reason Bellamy could discern. "Join us and we can begin."

Most of the conversations flew over Bellamy's head. He'd taken notes yesterday because Jaha told him to and he wasn't about to get fired from his only extracurricular. Still, most of his "comments" went along the lines of lazy doodles and excessive frowny faces. Thankfully, he got out of having to contribute by being put in charge of transcribing the meeting minutes. Mostly, he busied himself with adding names to his "Yes" and "No" columns and eating as much pizza as he could to make up for actually having to be present.

"Of course, Ms. Griffin is a 'yes,'" Jaha declared without ceremony.

"Wait, what?" Bellamy blurted when no one seemed to object. Every other act had been subject to at least five minutes of debate before a decision could be reached. Ten in Murphy's case before Jaha insisted he be included. Why shouldn't the princess get the same treatment?

"Are you saying I shouldn't be in the Showcase?" Clarke challenged, meeting his eye with a frown.

"I'm saying it shouldn't be such a unilateral decision. Everyone else was subjected to thorough discussion. You shouldn't get a pass just because you're in charge," he responded irritably. Maybe if it weren't  _her_ song that had been stuck in his head all day, he'd have been more civil. But it had to be the worst and most depressing earworm he'd ever heard and civility was nowhere near his current frame of mind. Plus, it was a good point.

"I'm not! Everyone here gets a say. That's the whole point of this meeting!"

"Yeah, but it's kind of hard to be completely honest when the person you're talking about is right in front of you."

"I think everyone in this room has enough integrity to say exactly what they thought of my performance straight to my face," she insisted, staring Bellamy down as her jaw set stubbornly.

No one took her up on the offer.

Bellamy snorted. "Sure. Because you definitely would have told Charlotte that she sounded like," he consulted his notebook, "'A choking parrot.'"

Clarke flushed and had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but her jaw still jutted to the side. "That's different."

"Of course it is, princess."

The nickname, one Bellamy hadn't put much stock in until now, slipped out but the pure indignation that lit up Clarke's face was worth it. Jasper's eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he watched them argue. Raven leaned back on her hands casually, but the calculating look on her face would have been more than enough to worry Bellamy if he were paying attention. Octavia just buried her face in her hands in mortification.

"Do you have an objection to including Ms. Griffin's performance, Mr. Blake?" asked Jaha cooly, cutting through the rising tension. 

"No," he responded honestly. It gave him a chance to smirk at the shock on Clarke's face. "I just wanted to speak up in the name of fairness."

Clarke's lips pursed, but a delicate sniff was the only other indication of her thoughts. 

* * *

As it turned out, the stage manager and the art director had to interact fairly often. This was especially true when the stage manager had no idea what he was doing and his faculty advisor was morally opposed to any teaching models outside of the Socratic Method. All of Bellamy's questions were met with other, more confusing, questions.

("So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Ah, isn't that the eternal question of life, Mr. Blake?" Jaha had then whirled off in a cloud of phony mysticism, leaving Bellamy to his disgruntled bemusement.)

He asked Raven next, but she shrugged him off. "I don't know, dude. I'm just in this for the scene shop. Ask Clarke. She's been on the executive council since she was a freshman." One glance at the uncomfortable look on his face and she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Grow up and ask for her help."

So, because Bellamy refused to be intimidated by a tiny, blonde seventeen-year-old, he did. 

"You mind telling me what I'm supposed to be doing here, princess?"

Her head shot up from where she'd been hunched over a sketchbook. Blonde tendrils escaped from a messy knot at the movement and settled against her neck. Bellamy forced himself to meet her gaze. When she registered him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Excuse me?"

Automatically, his hand flew up to the back of his neck. "Uh," he tried. "I guess I'm not really sure what a stage manager does and Jaha was about as helpful as you'd expect."

Clarke's eyes remained narrowed in suspicion. She finally settled on a fierce, "Is this some kind of joke to you? Because if it is and you're planning something—"

"No." Bellamy scowled. Of course the princess would accuse him of some kind of sabotage without any kind of evidence. Sure, he wasn't taking any of this that seriously, but he also wasn't a total monster. 

She must have read the frustration on his face because her expression went marginally softer and a little puzzled. Still full of healthy suspicion, though. Laying her sketchbook aside, Clarke fixed her attention on him. "Why would you sign up for a job you have no idea how to do?" she asked.

"I'm a fast learner," he snarked back. When Clarke continued to wait patiently, he gave in. "And I need a school-related extracurricular for my recommendation letter."

"In four years you haven't joined one after-school club?" she replied incredulously.

"Kind of hard to join an after-school club when you've had an after-school job the last five years," he shot back.

"Oh." She sighed a little and shifted uncomfortably. "Couldn't you ask Octavia? I bet she could help you out."

This time, Bellamy got to roll his eyes. "Would you really give _your_ fourteen-year-old sister the opening to boss you around?"

That earned him a grudging smile. "I guess not, but I don't have a fourteen-year-old sister, so I can't say for sure."

"Then trust me when I say it would be an absolute nightmare," he grinned back.

She ducked her head and laughed, her doubts apparently satisfied. Bellamy cursed the way it made him feel warm all over. This was the princess, here, not a viable outlet for his stupid teenage hormones. When Clarke looked back up, she studied him intently. "You're not as bad as you try to be," she observed.

He rubbed the back of his neck again. It wasn't hard to figure out what she was talking about. "About that," he began. "I'd had a really bad morning, but I'm sorry I acted like a dick."

"Apology accepted," she said primly. "Just don't let it happen again."

"Yeah, no. It's definitely going to happen again because of who I am as a person," he responded lightly. Her easy acceptance of his apology lifted a weight from his shoulders he hadn't even known he was carrying. 

"Deal," Clarke agreed after a moment, extending her hand. "As long as I get to call you an asshole when you do."

"Deal," he seconded, sealing the bargain with a handshake.

* * *

Once Clarke explained to him that his main objective was to make sure rehearsals, and then the performance, ran smoothly, Bellamy's job became much easier. Except it didn't because trying to wrangle a bunch of teenage theater kids was honestly a nightmare. He hadn't thought actual human beings would need to be told not to streak through the auditorium of a public high school, but this was his life, apparently.

The first time a chorus of "Thank you, ten!" was chirped at him, in shocking unison, Bellamy nearly jumped out of his skin. Clarke and Raven practically fell over laughing at his utter bewilderment.

"It's just theater etiquette," Clarke explained once she caught her breath. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed and Bellamy wanted to die then and there.

"Theater kids are the worst," Bellamy grumbled, nursing the bruise to his ego.

"Watch it, Blake," warned Raven. "You're one of us, now."

He shuddered for effect, but honestly? It wasn't that bad. 

Yes, he was exhausted between two hour rehearsals and schoolwork and taking care of O while their mom worked. And yes, his weekends were sacrificed to his job now that he had to make up all his shifts in two days. But it really wasn't that bad.

He got to hang out with O during the week without having to yell at her to do her homework. (As a bonus, he got to supervise nearly all of her interactions with Lincoln the junior. Clarke insisted that he couldn't run the boy off because he was a good house manager and never complained about having to man the Box Office at lunch. Bellamy would maybe agree with that if Octavia didn't spend most of her lunches with him.) Also, he actually got to know some kids outside of class. Before this, the only people from school he interacted with regularly were O, Raven, and Miller. It was probably a good thing that he was widening his social circle before heading off to college next year. Good practice, at least.

Still, the easy camaraderie he'd developed with Clarke had to be the best part of this. She helped him with his duties more than she should, which she shrugged off when he suggested she go back to her own job instead of nitpicking over his. 

"It's not like we have any sets to build. It's a cabaret show, so we just need to design some light cues and maybe a couple images to project."

He looked pointedly at Raven, busily welding something vaguely terrifying in the scene shop. 

Clarke shrugged again, "Raven only agreed to do sets if she could have free rein in there. If she could get cars in, she'd have her own mechanic's garage set up in no time flat. Now," she turned so she could look him straight in the face, "how has your running crew recruitment gone?"

"My what?"

She stared at him in abject horror. "Running crew, Bellamy! The stagehands! To move everyone's props between acts! You haven't recruited anyone?"

"Oh," he relaxed a little. "Yeah, nope. Can't I just do that myself?"

"Bellamy!" she groaned, which wasn't  _not_ the greatest thing Bellamy had ever heard. "You're going to be up in the booth during the performance, calling the show! Besides, it would take too long for one guy to move all the set pieces on and off stage by himself."

She wasn't wrong. Somehow, a prodigious number of chairs and stools had accumulated in the wings backstage. When he'd tried to pare things down, though, the performers nearly revolted. Roma refused on artistic grounds to use the same stool as Mbege, all of Monroe's eight Bentwood chairs were utterly necessary, and Myles  _needed_ that ridiculously heavy wingback because of the visual symbolism, Bellamy! Then, there were also the mike and music stands, not to mention the grand piano that had to be hauled on and off stage between each number. When Bellamy had tried to argue that point with Jaha, he'd been waved off with the promise, "Variety is the spice of life, Mr. Blake!"

"Huh," he said, at a loss. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, but it was pointless because his mouth went dry when Clarke's eyes followed the action.

Before he could process what had just happened, Clarke shook her head a little. "Oh my god, how did we ever put you in charge?" she lamented, voice a little shaky.

"Yeah, since you guys had so many options," replied Bellamy dazedly.

"You're a disaster, Bellamy," she proclaimed, but her fond smile took the sting out of it.

Nonetheless, within five minutes she had an entire plan laid out, which was how he ended up asking Miller to be his assistant stage manager. 

"Come on, you get to wear a headset and yell at freshmen." The first reason was the one Clarke supplied for convincing his recalcitrant best friend. He'd come up with the second on his own. 

"I can already do half of that without joining your play."

"It's not a play," Bellamy grumbled, not that Miller would listen. "I'd owe you one?" he offered hopefully.

Miller snorted, derisive.

"Fine. You'll have a reason to hang out and flirt with Monty for the next week and a half."

Finding out that Monty Green and his cello would accompany Clarke for her song had been the only real reason Bellamy'd thought Miller might agree in the first place. Miller's massive crush on orchestra nerd Monty was obvious to anyone who really knew him. To be fair, Bellamy was probably the only one who could claim that distinction. Still, he could hold this over Miller's head the next time he wanted Bellamy to do him a favor.

True to form, Miller was quiet for a minute before giving in. "Whatever, man. You don't have to _beg_ me to join your play."

* * *

When the Fall Showcase finally arrived, Bellamy couldn't believe he'd given a month of his life over to the Student Theatre Society and didn't even regret it. Sure, he still had to put up with weird theater kid traditions (Too many of which included unnecessary nudity. Seriously, what was up with that?), but he also got to hang out with some pretty cool theater kids. He could finally say he had more than two friends and his kid sister.

Honestly, he was hoping that he might also have someone as _more_ than a friend when this was all over.

Which was why he was standing outside the girls' dressing room ten minutes to curtain, sweating nervously as a giggling sophomore went in search of Clarke. 

When she finally appeared, nearly every thought in his head vanished in a haze. 

Clarke had always been pretty. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed with symmetrical features, it was impossible to say that she wasn't. But Clarke had always been approachable, too, wearing paint-stained overalls and her hair a bird's nest on her head. Tonight's Clarke was beautiful, though, which felt foreign in his teenage-boy brain. She wasn't just hot or cute or whatever; she was stunning in a soft blue dress and makeup and her hair in an actual style.

Thankfully, Clarke started talking while he managed to gather his thoughts.

"What are you doing back here? You should be up in the booth!" Taking in his sweaty countenance, she softened and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You don't have anything to be nervous about. You have the book of cues and Maya knows exactly what she's doing with the sound and light boards," she soothed.

"Thanks, Clarke," he managed. "I, uh, I actually came down here to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" she prompted gently, when he trailed off. Bellamy hoped to god he wasn't reading into the hope in her eyes.

He took a deep breath. Then another. "To tell you that it's seven minutes to curtain."

He couldn't do it. Not when she was so funny and kind and talented. Not when she was so much more than he could ever be. 

"Oh," something shuttered in Clarke's expression. "Thank you, seven," she responded hollowly as she turned back toward the dressing room. 

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Bellamy called, "Break a leg, Clarke!" through the closing door. It slipped shut before he could hear a reply. 

* * *

All in all, Bellamy would have called the Fall Showcase a success. Sure, one of the freshmen Clarke recruited for running crew tripped over an audio cord and ended up having to literally crawl off stage and, yes, Jasper did blind Harper with the spotlight during her solo, but Bellamy didn't miss a single cue and everyone was waiting in the wings in time for their performance. 

Of course, there were some stand outs. 

Bellamy had had occasion to hear Clarke's song more times than he could count over the past month. Partially, that was because the thing was stuck in his head 90% of the time. Still, he'd never heard the song quite the way Clarke performed it tonight. If he'd thought she poured her heart into her audition performance, than this had to be both her heart and soul. She just sounded so sad, so truly heartbroken, as she sang about that dead relationship. He even would have sworn he saw the shimmer of tears as she bowed and left the stage. 

Of course, Bellamy still had about ten acts to call; he couldn't just race out of the booth the way he wanted. So, he sat in that dark little box and ignored Maya as she grew more and more concerned with his constant fidgeting. As soon as the curtain came down and the house lights came up, Bellamy's headset was dangling by its cord and he was up and out of there.

As he burst into the auditorium lobby, he was confronted by the strange sight of a knot of sweaty, triumphant, cheering theater kids crowded around where Raven and Clarke lay sprawled on the floor. Before he had time to really worry, Clarke was pulling Raven to her feet and engulfing the girl in a hug. 

"What the hell was that?" he demanded as he pushed his way toward them.

In perfect sync, they looked at each other, back at Bellamy, and crowed, "Tradition!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "You theater kids are nuts."

"Watch it, Blake," Raven warned before whirling off to go tackle Murphy or something.

Without Raven, Clarke's smile dimmed and she looked down at the ground rather than him. "What did you think of the show?" she asked to fill the silence.

"You were amazing," was the only answer he could give. 

She finally looked him in the eye and smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah, we really—"

"No, Clarke," he interrupted, reaching for her hand. He forced himself not to look away. " _You_ were amazing."

Clarke's guarded expression melted a bit at his declaration. "Really?" she asked shyly.

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. How couldn't she know how wonderful she was? Absently, his thumb rubbed over her knuckles. "You were the best one out there."

"Thanks." 

They stared at each other until Bellamy felt like he was going to burst. "Listen, Clarke. I warned you that I was going to be a dick again and I have been. Tonight, in fact. I didn't go backstage tonight to give you a call time. It's just— You looked so beautiful and— My brain, it just malfunctioned and I realized that there was no way—"

Before he could dig himself a deeper hole, he had an armful of Clarke and her mouth pushing insistently at his. Because it had been an eventful night, it took Bellamy longer to rally than he would like to admit. So, when Clarke started to pull away, he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her back in. Kissing Clarke, it was easy to forget that they were surrounded by hyped-up drama kids and their parents. All that mattered was that she actually wanted to kiss him, maybe as much as he'd wanted that himself. 

When he finally pulled away to drag in a lungful of air, Clarke stayed close, murmuring an affectionate "Asshole" against his lips. 

Well, he really couldn't disagree with her there. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started as a nub for the March Flash Fic contest for the prompt "dreams." Then, I decided I liked my other ideas better and I realized I wasn't bound to 300 words for this thing. As per usual, this has gotten out of hand.
> 
> Also, it was actually fun to let my inner high school theater kid back out. This was nothing like my experiences in school, but maybe it was close to yours? I'd love to hear all about it!
> 
> Songs/shows referenced in order are: "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Mis, the "To be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet, "The Impossible Dream" from The Man of La Mancha, "Dreamgirls" from Dreamgirls, "Defying Gravity" from Wicked, the final monologue from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and "Still Hurting" from The Last Five Years, which is where the title comes from.
> 
> as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts. hit me up here or at megaphonemonday on tumblr


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